Headfirst For Sponges pt3

Headfirst For Sponges pt3

A Story by The Dark Passenger

the final part in the somewhat talked-about Squishy Trilogies, starring MCR, Matchbox Twenty, FOB, Dave Ghrol and Green Day.


Paul Douchette, ex-drummer turned guitarist for Matchbox Twenty, hair dye enthusiast and self appointed b***h mother of all event organizations mourned the loss of Sarquest Maximillian the Third. Otherwise known as Squishy, this very sponge octopus was not only his favourite bath toy but was one that he had owned since he was but the age of three (how Squishy stayed so fresh is still a mystery). Squishy was not only a bath companion, but a symbol of a childhood filled with fun, learning and growing; he was an emblem of all those years Paul never wanted to forget.

He placed a picture of Squishy up upon the mantel next to a picture of Adam Gaynor, and proceeded to sob. The other band members would have enveloped him in man-hugs, but they only stood a few feet or so away and bowed their heads solemnly, for Paul was incapable of taking baths without Squishy, and was starting to build up quite a musky odour.


“He’s probably in a better place now,” Rob offered in a hesitant half-whisper.


“I’m sure he’s having fun wherever he is,” Brian chimed in.


“Unless he’s down some sinkhole somewhere,” Kyle added with a guffaw, and Rob and Brian turned to glare at him.


Paul turned last and Kyle grinned sheepishly, “Squishy would have liked that,” Paul wailed and ran out the door.



Squishy was not having fun. If only his little foam tentacles worked, Squishy would have squeezed himself out of Pete Wentz’s deathly grasp and given him a good smack in the face.


At least they were outside now, and done with cowering in the corner of the bassist’s room... they were back at the scene of the crime, where Pete had lost Patrick in a haze of fried chicken and sponge theft.


Billie-Joe Armstrong crossed the open field of grass near The Killer’s tour bus, a serious expression on his face as he stared down at the grown, a chalk outline forming in his mind as Pete detailed the horrific events. The running, the choking, the slamming of doors...


“Well, he’s not here anymore,” The lead singer of Green Day assessed, and crouched down to get a better look at the bare grass before him. “Someone must have found the body and moved it,” he said, and Pete’s eyes welled up with more tears than Squishy could soak up.



 If there was one thing about the Warped Tour that Gerard would miss, it would be the food stalls. There was just so much of everything he could possibly ask for, cotton candy sticks, jell-o, cupcakes, gingerbread men, caramel pop-corn, snow-cones and ice cream by the bucket load. Not to mention kebabs, bags of chips, sandwiches, and a never-ending supply of KFC from God knows where.


The lead-singer of My Chemical Romance smiled and waved at a waffle stand owner who waved back. Looking at Gerard, you would never guess how many waffles and candy-apples he could put away in the course of a single day, but as the days passed the numbers escalated, his skinny jeans still fitted perfectly.


A sausage vendor appeared into view and Gerard grimaced immediately. The man looked up, saw Gerard and turned to run away. “Yeah you better f***ing run,” Gerard growled, making the man pick up his pace. Nothing good ever came from sausage vendors, Gerard thought, and imagined the seller grinning back at him with his tray of mixed-meats. Something inside Gerard could have snapped or popped or cracked right then, the amount of anger he was feeling was almost toxic.


Why Gerard Way hated sausage vendors was anyone’s guess, but everyone knew there wasn’t another food vendor in the world that Gerard would turn away.


He hummed to himself as he continued on in his stroll, wondering how long it would be before the band got into some kind of mess again, and needed him to fix it. The thought burned in his head, and Gerard Way got very cross again. If it wasn’t missing sponge-octopuses or unconscious Bob Bryars, there’d be a whole host of other troubles Gerard would be expected to fix in haste. It was a thankless job, Gerard thought, and grimaced.


That’s when someone came running into him and knocked him clean off his feet.


“And he just stormed off!” Mikey said, flailing his arms in the air. Ray had never seen Mikey this animated before, and knew that this was definitely an important matter, but he couldn’t hold back the words that were fighting to get out.


He glared at Frank, “You kept that sponge octopus?” He blurted in an angry hiss, “The sponge thing that did this?” He shouted and pointed to his now smaller but still vivid-when-pointed-to bald spot.


“To be fair, I did that, and Dr. Octo put it out!” Frank grumbled, pouting and folding his arms.


“You’re not helping your case,” Bob whispered to the rhythm guitarist.


“What’re we going to do?” Mikey said, baffled and upset that his older brother had made such a scene and abandoned the band on ‘Prank-Muse-day’ (which is exactly what you think it is).


The band fell silent as the boys pondered the possible ways out of this Way issue. But unfortunately, after so many months of living in small confined bunks, staying up til late, and snacking on nothing nutritious and everything sugar soaked, the boys’ minds soon wandered off topic. Ray started considering wearing hats to hide his little singed bald spot, and Bob pondered making his holy toast a toast village to go with its toast cottage. Mikey on the other hand, let his mind return to its general state of Mikey-ness, where his brain activity diminished to a rather dangerous percentage of functioning, and let his eyes glaze over and his lips hang open.


Frank on the other hand pondered advance physics and the meaning of life, and how if the timing, lighting, gradient and humidity was just right, equal forces could meet in a moment of absolute chance and serendipity.



“Y-y-you’re...” A stuttering voice met Patrick’s ears just as his eyes re-opened and his vision fell back into focus. “Patrick S-stump...”


“Uh...” Patrick attempted to reply but was suddenly assaulted with a hand to the chest, forcing him back down onto the gravel underneath him. “G-Gerard?” He choked, and indeed it was Gerard who sat on top of him, a hand on his chest and a knee digging into his stomach.


“This is for emo!” Gerard exclaimed, raising a fist.


“No!” Patrick squealed and flinched, squeezing his eyes shut. But the punch never came.


“Hang on- hang on!” A third voice yelled out and Patrick re-opened his eyes to see Paul Douchette holding on to Gerard’s fist and panting as he lay on the gravel next to them. “Take it easy man, Isn’t there enough pain and suffering in the world?” Paul muttered, lowering Gerard’s fist as his lips quivered and eyes welled up with tears. “Aren’t there enough broken hearts?”


“What are you talking about?” Gerard blurted out angrily as he pulled his fist away and backed off Patrick.


“Nothing, you guys wouldn’t understand,” Paul muttered, slowly sitting up though his back stung a little.


“Here,” Gerard sighed when he stood up and dusted his skinny jeans off. He extended a hand to Paul rather grudgingly, and the drummer took it with a weak smile, allowing the taller, paler, skinnier gentleman to pull him up.


They stood up, nodded at each other the way men do when avoiding a hug that would have been much more fitting for the moment, and looked down at Patrick who was now curled in the foetal position. He made small whimpering noises and shivered like Bert McCracken on the first day of rehab.


“Yo, Patrick, you going to get up?” Gerard smirked, rather amused at the fully grown man who looked like he was dangerously close to sucking his thumb.


“I’ve just choked myself unconscious, been abandoned by my best friend, and subsequently abducted by Dave Ghrol,” Patrick stammered, his eyes wide and fixed on the nothingness before him. “All before I ran head first into you guys... so I’m going to need a freakin’ minute okay?” He choked.


“O-kay,” Gerard replied, wide-eyed.


Paul raised an eyebrow, “And I thought I was having a rough day,”


“G-G-Guys?” A quivering voice met their ears and they turned around. There, atop a tree stump just outside Jared Leto’s Winnebago sat Tre Cool. His eyes were red and filled with tears that streamed down his flushed cheeks. “I-I-I got lost,” and with that the drummer burst into tears.


“Is it just me,” Gerard began as he side glanced at Paul, “Or is Rock and Roll having a really slow day today?”



“Who are you guys looking for?” Frank asked, scratching his head and squinting his eyes at Billie Joe Armstrong and Pete Wentz who stood at the door of the MCR tour bus.


“Patrick... m-my... band’s le-e-e-ad singer...” Pete stuttered through horrible sobs.


“Oh right...” Frank laughed a little. “So why are you guys looking for him?” He asked, putting a hand under his t-shirt to give his belly a scratch. Frank always lacked common courtesy and self restraint... especially in front of company, much to the disapproval of Bob who only sighed and shook his head in the background.


“Because we believe he might be dead,” Billie Joe said, causing Pete to shriek and sob even louder. Billie Joe sighed, passing a glance at Pete who was shaking with grief. “If you’ve seen a body around...”


“Um... no, don’t think we have,” Frank replied, thinking hard. “Well there was one around here the other day, but then we turned it over and it was just that guy from Limp Bizkit,”


“Ah okay,”


Pete’s sobs died down a little and he reached into his pocket to pull out Squishy which he used to wipe away his tears. Squishy was not impressed.


“Hey! Wait a minute! Dr. Octo!” Frank squealed. “You’re Pete Wentz!” He squealed again. “You stole Dr. Octo off me when I was asleep!”


Inside, Ray sipped on his cup of coffee with an unmoved expression on his face. He side glanced at Bob who was standing beside him, then looked back at the scuffle that was developing at the front door of the bus. “That’s a mighty slow rhythm guitarist we got there, Bob,”


“I think it’s all the loud music,” Bob replied. “Remember that time we told him Matt Bellamy was his mother?”


Ray chuckled and took another sip of his hot coffee. “Ah yea... that was a good day,”


By this time, Frank was sitting on top of Pete on the ground outside the bus and slapping him repeatedly in the face. “You! Stole! Doctor! Octo!” Frank screamed angrily. “Give him back!”


“No!” Pete screamed, “Never!” He yelled, and held Squishy tightly. Frank kept slapping, back and forth, back and forth, even when Paramore walked past and started videotaping them.


“You suck!” Frank shouted down at the bassist whose cheeks were becoming rather flushed with every repeated slap.


“Fine! You want it? Come get it!” Pete grumbled and stuffed Squishy into the front of his pants.


Frank stopped. Paramore dropped their camera and gawked. Ray and Bob stared wide-eyed. Billie Joe Armstrong gasped as silence fell.


Squishy saw his little sponge life flash before his eyes.


"I can't go there," Frank whimpered, glassy-eyed, "That's your special place!"


“What... did you just do...” A very shocked and appalled voice met their ears and Pete turned to look, as did the dumb founded guitarist on top of him. Just beside them stood a very distressed looking Paul Douchette who held his hands out like he had just seen some heinous crime. “Sarquest?” He squeaked and looked like he was about the have the biggest cry since Squishy’s wake.


Tre Cool, Gerard Way and Patrick Stump stood beside him and just stared at Pete wide-eyed, all shocked to the very core of their Rock Star beings. Well, all except for Tre Cool who was more impressed than shocked.


“Give him back Sarquest now!” Another voice shouted, and Pete and Frank turned to see Rob Thomas, Kyle Cook and Brian Yale staring back at them, the lead singer pointing a finger at Pete, his eyes burning with fury.


“Rob Thomas?” Pete whimpered.


“Yes, that’s right, I’m here standing up for our guitarist who used to be our drummer because he’s not just another musician in my multi-million dollar making band man!” Rob said, “But because he’s also my best friend,”


“Yeah!” Brian chimed in, “He’s like family, like the brother we never had!” he said, “And sure we have our disagreements and our fights, but at the end of the day we’re all family, and we love each other!”


“Yeah!” Kyle added, punching his fist in the air, “So give him back his bath toy so we can all go home and eat sandwiches!”


“Yeah!” Bob, Ray, Mikey, Billie Joe and Tre Cool chimed in just as Paramore decided to run out of there very quickly.


Shaking with fear, Pete Wentz quickly reached into his bright red skinny jeans and pulled out a very unimpressed sponge octopus. “I’m sorry!” he burst into tears and threw it at Frank who grabbed it and stood up, stumbling backwards a little.


“Dr. Octo?” Frank said softly, staring at Squishy’s little beady eyes. He looked up and saw Paul staring at him, “It’s time to go back home now,” Frank smiled and returned Squishy to his rightful owner.


“Yay!” Rob, Kyle and Brian bounded towards Paul and enveloped him in man-hugs.  Both Paul and Squishy felt complete again... even if it would take years of therapy before Squishy ever got over the whole Pete Wentz ordeal.


“We’re sorry Gee,” Mikey and Frank said though their voices were muffled as My Chemical Romance shared a very long hug.



“Well I’m glad things are back to normal now,” Bob said as he used peanut butter to patch together a toast cottage. “Things were seriously getting a bit loony,”


“Agreed, it’ll be nice to have some peace for a change,” Ray sighed, inspecting his reflection in the mirror and adjusting his new bowler hat that sat on the top of his afro.


“So what do you guys wanna do for dinner?” Mikey asked, “Should I order some pizza?”


All the members of My Chemical Romance exchanged eyeliner clad glances. A smile curled on Gerard’s lips, “Or... we could go steal some hamburgers off Muse,”


“Yeah!” They cheered together and exited the bus in a whirlwind of excitement.


“Yay! I’ll get to see mum again!” Frank grinned as he clambered onto Bob’s back and forced the drummer to give him a piggy back ride.



“So tell me when all this tension between you guys started,” Dave Ghrol asked, lowering his reading glasses as he started jotting down some notes on his clipboard. Pete Wentz and Patrick Stump sat in front of him on either end of a very long couch.


“When he left me out to die...” Patrick growled.


“You didn’t die!” Pete shouted.


“Well I could have! You know how many Rock Stars die every year from choking on a chicken wing?” Patrick said angrily, crossing his arms at the bassist.


“Shut up!” Pete retorted. “Stop making stuff up!”


“I don’t make stuff up, you make stuff up! And you know what else you do? You always take all the attention in every single music video we make!” Patrick replied viciously. Pete gasped, “There!” Patrick said, straightening the collar of his shirt, “I said it!”


“Okay, that’s it!” Dave said loudly, immediately sending the room into still silence, “You guys have to learn to speak civilly to each other, remember the meditation- use your inside voices,” he took in a very deep and very Zen breath of air, Pete and Patrick following suit. Dave raised his glasses again and took down more notes, “Now we’ll have to continue this tomorrow,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve got Green Day booked in next.”




© 2009 The Dark Passenger

Author's Note

The Dark Passenger
yea i've finally ended it lol.

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Added on February 13, 2009
Last Updated on February 13, 2009